


Passage

by Fyrsil



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyrsil/pseuds/Fyrsil
Summary: What is death, to nations that can never truly die?





	Passage

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me my friends. I haven't proof read this, so excuse any mistakes you see. I am trying to continue my writings through out the exam period. 
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy this philosophical interpretation of the APH nations. 
> 
> *Spoken rhyme by Norway is from the Eddic poem 'Sayings of the Wise One', which wouldn't have been written down at the time that the story takes place, but would have possibly been present as spoken word (as was the culture of Viking times). We historians can never be sure when things aren't written down! (and not even then!)

“Finland, take Iceland and run! We’re right behind you!” Matthias spoke with such precedented urgency Finland didn’t dare refuse, scooping up the frozen child – purple eyes glinting in the firelight – and sprinting into the forest undergrowth, battling fir and spruce branches that tore at their clothes and skin. Behind him, Finland could hear Sweden’s roar and Denmark’s shouting, and the ugly voices of the humans who wished to harm them. He gasped for air, his body only yet in its late teens, weak yet resilient from geographical hardship and lack of fighting. Iceland was sobbing in his arms, squirming as if he couldn’t stop himself. 

They came to an opening, the sound of clanging swords dampened by the forest. But the trees were close and heavy with snow, so sound was deceptively weak, and Finland knew they were far from safety. A part of him longed to take up his knife and fight beside the older ones, but Iceland was still a child and helpless, and he knew that Norway would never forgive him if he left the child nation. 

They had stopped, and all around them, to the ringing in Finland’s eyes, the world had become silent. He almost didn’t hear the two men approach running behind him, didn’t hear the speak of a loaded bow, but he did, and dove to the side just in time for the arrow to wedge itself in the trunk of a weeping spruce. ‘That could be my ribs’ he though, terrified, as he saw the shaft vibrate slowly. Scrambling to his feet, he felt in the snow for Iceland only to some back with cold fingers. The men had both knocked arrows now, and the child was in front of Finland, his own bow loaded. Finland couldn’t even remember taking the weapon with them, but he watched as the world slowed, as Iceland let the arrow fly with accuracy tuned by centuries, and even though the weight of the bow was weak, it entered the man’s eye socket and stuck in the inside of his skull. 

The knocked arrow flew into the air and hit the neck of some nameless tree. Finland almost collapsed with relief, until a flash of brown – and then red – and then the boy was suddenly on the ground, pricked by the thing, its wooden body protruding from his fragile chest. The man didn’t have time to knock another arrow, as from behind him his neck was slit, and the pale, wild faces of Norway, Denmark and Sweden appeared behind him, bloody and scared. 

Seeing his dead brother, Norway cried out. The sound was wrenching, its pitch high and weedy, like a mother whose babe died in her arms. He rushed to the body, hands shaking as they picked him gently from the snow. Iceland’s blood stained the whiteness around him, stained his clothes and hair. It stained Norway’s hands and clothes as he took the boy to his chest, looking almost scary covered in other’s blood as he rocked the dead child, tears flowing freely. Finland had never seen Norway cry before – he was small and powerless, and not involved in any such matters of such intensity. 

Standing, he wobbled towards his friends, chocking back his own sobs. He was well aware of his failure. Aware that, despite Iceland being only temporarily dead, he was at fault for his first death, a trauma even Finland hadn’t experienced before. He had witnessed it. Many times. Denmark, Norway, Sweden… all three fought so hard to protect their lands and honour and family, and they were cut down enough for Norway to have declared he was quite sick of the halls of Valhalla – to request even, to be sent to Freyja’s hall for variety. Every time a nation died, they woke scared and trembling and cold. They were usually sick - stomach acid and remaining blood. They didn’t warm immediately, and coming back from death was, as Norway described, like dying without the dwindling consciousness. 

Finland looked to Sweden. The man was avoiding looking at his charge. It was a bad sign. Finland had upset even the gentle-hearted giant whom so regularly reminded him of his love. Denmark was staring helplessly at Norway and Iceland. His face was a mix of fury and panic, and after a few heartbeats he turned and kicked the dead body of the human archer, crouching down to dig his fingers in and rip the man’s throat, cooling blood tricking o the ground. Finland turned in horror, trying to stop himself from vomiting.   
“Island… Island…” Norway moaned, rocking and sobbing. Denmark stopped from his attack, and seemed to draw enough courage to go over to Norway and put a bloody hand on his shoulder. If Norway noticed, he didn’t react. Nations were free from mortality. But when they died, its weight suddenly became more noticeable, and alas death was death, such as life was life, and no matter how many times they could escape it, it would come for them with all its power and evil. “Uneasy is that which a man doth own, while it lies in another’s breast,” Norway recited, “uneasy…” He turned to Denmark, a child again, grasping uncertainty, “is my colony uneasy, Danmark? Uneasy as Freyja mothers him? He belongs at my breast, surely? Is he uneasy, Danmark?”

“No,” Denmark, though Finland thought it might be a lie. “We all belong to Her, only, she has given him to you to own.”

Finland didn’t understand, but he trusted their reasoning. They were usually right; though it was unsettling to hear Denmark comment more surely on the matters of the gods than Norway. He shuddered when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and craned his neck to look up at Sweden, whose face was stone. Finland mentally squirmed under the glare, and found himself, much to his own surprise, grasping at tears. As his vision went blurry, he bowed his head and let the droplets fall onto the snow, where they froze as perfect, round little spheres. 

“S’okay.” Sweden said. 

Finland looked up in hope. 

“S’not okay!” Denmark protested. “Island’s blood is on his hands.”

“The blood is on the bastard humans who attacked them both. Island died bravely. Finland fled bravely, to protect them both.” It was a lot for the man to say at once. He looked breathless, frustrated that he wasn’t able to say all he thought. 

His mouth a wobbly line, Finland spoke cautiously, “it’s not okay, Sweden, Denmark. I was a coward, and I failed. I am – ” he paused to allow for a sob, “I am so sorry, Norway. Forgive me, if you can.”

Norway had been ignoring them until then. But at his name he turned his attention upwards. “Blame nor apology changes what happens. It will happen again. It would have happened eventually. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Finland let himself cry openly them, for the rare kindness shown by his friend. 

Iceland stirred, suddenly shivering again, and slowly, the air filled with the additional mist of his breath. Norway gasped, reaching to cup his forehead, and at the sounds of retching turned the boy on his side to let him cough up the congealed blood and acid that cluttered his airways. 

The boy suffered, and cried much that night. But he was alive, and they were together. So somehow, it was okay.


End file.
